Good for him
by BellaDrey
Summary: When Astoria Greengrass dies after taking her own life, her husband Draco Malfoy feels like there's nothing left to do but drown in his dark thoughts and sleep forever. However, when a former enemy nocks on his door, a spark of hope seems possible.


Hello! So, after about four years, I'm back on Fanfiction.net. I recently started reading the HP books again, and I re-watched all the movies; which led me to read again Dramione fics and made me want to write again on that platform. So here I am with a post-Hogwarts one-shot. Just to be clear, I'm French; all of my previous fics were written in French. But I wanted to challenge myself and write in English for a change; and the fact that I study in Scotland helps a little with the language. Also, I read and watch HP in English; I mostly know the HP world in that language. So, it sounded better to me to write a HP fic in English. 

So, that said, I'm sorry if there are mistakes in the language (I'm sure there are plenty). The decision to write in English was also to reach more people, so English-speaking folks, feel free to correct grammar mistakes (nicely of course) :)

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Good for him

  
  


Everything seemed lost.

The day Astoria Greengrass was buried was a cold and grey day of November. As if it weren't enough, thought Draco Malfoy to himself with a look at the window, rain started falling, making his vision through the glass blurry. With a sigh, Draco turned around, allowing the background noise of the room full of people to make its way back to his ears and break the bubble he had closed himself in. With a circular look, he scanned the living room occupied by dozens of guests dressed in black suits and fancy dresses, then glanced at the now almost empty glass of whiskey he was holding, thinking he seriously needed a refill.

It had only been about an hour since they were all in his house back from the funeral, and yet it had seemed like ages. Time just seemed to have slowed down with the purpose to torture him. There was something in the atmosphere that was making his guts twist. It was like Astoria was there, glooming presence over them. It was disturbing, and alcohol certainly didn't help.

Although this gathering resembled the pompous and cold receptions his parents used to have at this exact same place when he was little, this was still too much feelings for him. He could feel people staring at him with pity, or whispering from time to time how much this must be hard for him. And he hated it; he wanted them all gone.

Draco was about to lock himself in his room and give up the idea of having another drink, when he spotted Daphne standing by the lit fireplace. Until then, he hadn't been able to even take a look at her; he couldn't bring himself to witness the pain on her face. She was staring in the void clutching her glass, and Draco told himself that she looked like her soul had died along with her sister. And there was the guilt, nested in his insides, hurting his stomach. That was far too much to bear; he needed to get out of here.

Just when he was turning around to flee everyone and run upstairs, a hand rested on his shoulder.

'Hi mate', said Blaise in a small and respectful voice. 'Sorry I didn't come to you earlier after the burial. As silly and useless as it may sound, how are you doing?'

'I'm… breathing. I guess I'm the lucky one here. Even if I should be the one lying in that coffin under the ground.'

'Mate, it wasn't' your fault. Don't blame yourself for something you couldn't do.'

In response, Draco just stared at his drink, not daring to face the pitiful look his best friend was giving him. No one could understand what he was feeling. He had seen Astoria's mind state deteriorate with time. During months. And he hadn't been able to do anything for his wife. In fact, he probably could have done something; but coward and selfish as he was, he had let Astoria get worse thinking it was just temporary. Hell, why hadn't she got better? Draco could go on and on like this for hours blaming himself. He had been doing it since he had got home to a dead wife a week ago.

When Draco's stare fell on his hands, he noticed that his glass was magically full again. Blaise, who had left him to comfort his wife, was probably the one to thank for that.

Another sip of Firewhisky and the Slytherin was back in his dark thoughts. He even detected another strong feeling scrambling to his mind but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He sure didn't like it though. Suddenly, Draco felt the urge to kick everyone out of his house so that he could finally crawl into bed and enter in hibernation. Plus, winter was coming and he hated that season and all that came with it: the cold, the snow, the boredom, the constantly dull sky, and death now added to the list. Yes, going to sleep for an undetermined time seemed like a fucking great idea.

But before Draco could do anything, Pansy who must have read his mind -or simply his facial expression- took advance and started to ask all the guests to leave.

'I'm really sorry, but I think it's preferable if we let Draco mourn alone,' she said to a couple.

'Party's over ladies and gentlemen,' she then prompted a group of family friends while leading them to the front door.

That specific aspect of Pansy's personality was what Draco loved about her. She didn't care what people would think of her, no matter the circumstances. And at that moment, Draco clearly needed his friend's nonchalance. Some people seemed particularly outraged since they had only been here for an hour and a bit. Apparently, a funeral demanded from the host to treat their guests a minimal amount of time. One of Astoria's aunts came to Draco to complain about the precipitate departure.

'What does that mean Draco? Is that all you need to mourn your wife? Barely a couple hours with your family and friends?'

What answer could he possibly give? Astoria was bloody dead. What difference would it make anyway? Besides, there were very few people in that room he could call friends. Even his parents hadn't been able to make it to the funeral. Not that he blamed them; they had their own lot of problems going on and they had visited him a few days before to give their condolences. Besides, they had never been fond of Astoria.

'Bloody hell,' said Pansy coming to his rescue. 'Time to leave dear.'

The woman was really angry now; she left with a furious glare to Draco before stepping out of the house and slamming the door behind her as she was the last reluctant person to go. The now deserted house fell silent, the last people remaining being Draco, Pansy and Blaise.

'I never liked that woman anyway,' Pansy said to Draco.

'Daphne's staying at her parents' tonight but I should probably go with her,' said Blaise. 'She's going to need comfort. Not that you don't mate. But Pansy will stay with you.'

With a small pressure on his best friend's shoulder, Blaise put his coat on and departed.

'Do you want me to stay the night?' Pansy asked gently.

Draco seemed to resurface at the sound of the question. He glanced at her blankly.

'No, I'd like to stay alone.'

'Ok, that's fine. I'll come in the morning to check on you.'

And with a final look at Draco, she walked off as well. Then the manor really felt empty and cold and sad; almost morbid, considering his wife had taken her own life just a few yards away, in the drawing room. Draco had no idea what to do now, apart from going to bed. But before, he needed a last drink. Probably not reasonable, but definitely essential for a dreamless night.

So, he went to the bar in the living room and started pouring himself a glass of the amber liquid. But before he could even bring the beverage to his lips, the doorbell rang.

'For fuck sake! What now?'

He put his glass down and went to the door with the only purpose to cast the person behind it back to hell. But what he found on the doorstep was probably his most unexpected visitor.

'Granger?' he let out in a surprised tone.

He and Hermione Granger were not enemies anymore. They had both grown up and gained maturity. They were two adults who had fought in a war neither of them asked for, when they were just children. And above all, they had witnessed death way too much for their young age. But he and Hermione Granger were definitely not friends either. In the last seven years following the war and the defeat of Voldemort, they had probably spoken about once a year, each time being in a context of duty or formal meeting. So, the reason Hermione was standing on the threshold of his house was a complete mystery and incomprehension could certainly be read on his face.

'What the hell are you doing here?' he asked her a bit too harshly.

'Ahem', she started uncertainly. 'I've come to pay my respect.'

Typical of her. She was still that nice Gryffindor who apparently thought it was custumal to give condolences even to people she disliked. She didn't even know Astoria. And yet, there she was, standing in front of him wrapped in a long brown coat and a dark red scarf to cope with the cold. Her hair was curly as ever, tangled by the wind and a bit damp.

Something struck Draco when his eyes shifted to her innocent, yet fierce, stare. She just looked so different from everyone he used to see all the time, from his friends. His first thought when he had seen her had been to send her back where she came from, but he realised that perhaps, she was what he needed at that precise moment. Some fresh and yet familiar company. And as being suddenly alone in that big manor of his now felt like a frightening thought, the timing of her visit was perfect.

So, Draco let her in, slowly closing the heavy door behind her. When he then pivoted, he could see that Hermione was uncomfortable, starting to toy with the hems of her scarf, not knowing what to do. This made Draco uncomfortable as well. What now?

'Hand me your stuff,' he instructed her. 'I'll hang it.' That was the only thing that came to his mind.

Feeling relieved, Hermione executed herself and started to pace towards the main area. Gazing around at the living room, she occupied herself with some framed pictures on the walls.

'Astoria really was beautiful,' she said sincerely looking up at a photograph of the couple. 'I can't believe I never noticed her at School.'

Draco didn't know how to respond to that. It was true, his wife was- had been a beautiful wife.

'I guess we couldn't know everyone we had school with,' she added now facing him. And then staring back at the room and ceiling 'The manor looks a bit different. A little… warmer I'd say.'

Draco wondered what she was talking about since she had never been in his house before. But then a memory that had been buried deep down in his head resurfaced. Seventh year. She and Weasley and Potter had been brought here by snatchers. And then, she had been tortured in that bloody -certainly cursed- drawing room. The Slytherin shuddered. What a moron! She had already seen his house and not in the best circumstances. And he had no idea what to tell her in that awkward moment; but maybe he was the only one feeling uneasy. Hermione just seemed busy contemplating the decorating, which wasn't much to be fair. The manor was indeed a little less cold than when it belonged to his parents. But it was still missing a personal mark.

'Silly and cliché as it may be,' Hermione started, dragging Draco out of his thoughts, 'How are you doing?'

He snorted. 'Everyone wants to know how I'm doing. As if it weren't obvious.'

Hermione half smiled. 'Actually, it isn't. Sadness probably is an obvious feeling, yes. But in times of mourning people can feel many things, which others don't necessarily know about nor understand.'

Unlike most of the guests that had come for the funeral, Hermione truly seemed to care about what he was feeling. And instead of a cheesy speech, she was talking facts like she used to at school; which was almost… soothing.

Hands in the pockets of his trousers to compose himself and not wanting to answer the question just now, he asked 'Er, do you want a drink or something? I could use another one myself.'

Hermione spun around and found him taking a sip from his glass of Firewhiskey. So instead of answering, she quickly reached him and took the glass out of his hand.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing Granger?"

"I'm stopping you from becoming an alcoholic."

Draco snorted then said "Don't you think that's a bit overstated? I just buried my wife; I think I deserve it."

"Well I know that's not your first of the day, and I'm guessing that you're at least at your fourth." She retorted. "Do you like hot chocolate?"

"What?"

"Do you like hot chocolate?" Hermione repeated like she was talking to a child.

"Er, yes, I guess. I mean, I haven't had a hot chocolate in years."

"Then hot chocolate it is! Can you lead the way to your kitchen please?"

A little taken aback, Draco started his way to the kitchen, followed by his former Hogwarts mate -or rather nemesis.

The room, it seemed to Granger by the look on her face, was a gigantic and luxurious space. However, it didn't last long, because she began a research in the drawers and cupboards. It probably didn't really amaze her anymore, knowing how rich he was.

Leaning on the counter, hands back in the pockets of his pants, Draco didn't bother helping Hermione. He couldn't, even if he wanted to anyway. He had no idea where each cooking utensil was, and Hermione looked determined to find everything by herself.

When she found what she was looking for, she started preparing two hot chocolates, using her wand as little as possible.

'You know you could just make that with magic.' Draco said in a tone that he himself found superior. 'Wouldn't it be a lot faster?'

'I could, but that's not the way I'm used to make it.'

Draco guessed she had kept the habit of doing some stuff the muggle way. So, he watched her gesturing, seeing only her back and her arms moving. After a minute or so, he asked 'Why are you here?'

He hadn't said it in a mean way; he truly wanted to know what the girl he had bullied at school was doing here, in his manor -where she had been tortured- making him a hot chocolate.

'I told you,' she replied 'I've come to pay my respect. You just lost your wife, so it seems only fair.'

'Yes, but we're not friends. We barely spoke since Hogwarts and… everything that happened; the only times were when you were with Potter and I was speaking to him.'

Draco and Harry now had a relationship close to friendship, so naturally when they would meet, Hermione would sometimes be there which would force both Draco and Hermione to tolerate each other. But in those moments, they would rarely speak directly to each other.

Hermione shrugged then turned to Draco to face him. She was holding the two ready beverages and she pushed one towards Draco on the counter separating them.

'Careful,' she warned, 'It's hot.'

Draco took the mug and blew on it before Hermione spoke again to answer his previous question.

'I guess, er, that I never took the time to learn to know you. Which is stupid because years have passed and we're not the same people that we used to be. We both grew up and became adults. I am sure we could now have a full civilised conversation. And today seemed to be a good time to reach to you.'

'Because my wife just died.' He stated raising an eyebrow.

Hermione's eyes widened in a horrified look like she had just made a mistake.

'Oh my god, no I'm sorry! That's not what I meant.'

Draco's eyebrow raised again, and Hermione tried to explain herself again. 'I meant that it is probably the time for me to be more open-minded and to try to connect with old classmates; and since you're friends with Harry, I think I should try to see from his point of view. As I said, we're not the same anymore and I think it is the right time.'

'Right, because my wife just died.'

Hermione panicked again. Draco smirked.

'Relax Granger! I'm not upset.'

She sighted in relief and took a sip from her cup to hide her embarrassment, while Draco frowned discreetly. He had just realised that he had actually smiled. Not really smiled because it had been more of a smirk, but still. This was disturbing to him, and yet familiar. It reminded him of school when he would mock her, although he was truly mean back then.

Coming back from his thoughts, he looked up and saw Hermione staring at him.

'Don't you want to try the hot chocolate?' she asked.

'Oh, er, yes sure.'

Draco took a sip after blowing on the mug. It was… very good actually. Sweet and comforting. He must have given an appreciative look because Hermione smiled proudly.

'See?' she said. 'The muggle way can be very good as well.'

Draco wasn't sure he wanted to have a debate on the muggle versus magical way of life. He was so tired mentally that it was definitely not a good time. So instead, he invited Hermione to the living room where they could sit properly. She saw no objection and followed him. They both sat on the couch, though at a respectable -and not awkward- distance from each other. Draco took a look at Hermione to see how she was reacting to the fact that she was sitting on his couch in his manor, not far from the room she had been tortured in. She didn't look affected in any way by that, rather she seemed embarrassed to be sat next to him. She was glaring deeply into her drink, as if to find something in it that she could possibly say to fill the blank. Feeling awkward as well and rushing to say something, Draco broke the silence with the first thing that came to his mind.

'The house feels so empty now.'

Hermione looked up at him, surprise in her eyes as she probably hadn't expected him to start confiding in her.

'It was already too big for just the both of us anyway. But Astoria wanted a kid. I wasn't against the idea, but I wasn't ready to be a father just yet. I just thought that it was too soon. Maybe she would still be alive if we'd had a child.'

The former Gryffindor next to him didn't seem to know what to respond. But then she said 'You can't blame yourself for that. I know you must have heard that sentence quite a lot by now, but really it wasn't your fault. If she was feeling mentally unwell, I doubt having a child would have made things better. You need to be prepared and to be okay with your mind to become a parent.'

Draco sighted and his look fell on his mug. It was his turn to stare deep into it like he hoped to find an answer to his thoughts and torments.

Hermione came a little closer to catch is attention and to look at him seriously in the eyes.

'It is normal to feel guilty.' She said. 'It is normal to feel like you have been powerless or careless. Your wife, the woman you loved dearly took her own life. This is never easy to understand or accept. You're probably thinking that you just ignored the signs, because acknowledging them would have been too difficult and would have made the situation more real. But from what I understood and heard, you sought help from your friends and hers, from her family too. If no one was able to help her, how could you?'

During Hermione's speech, Draco had felt his heart wrench, his eyes sting. Her voice was so soft, so comforting. She had said exactly what he needed to hear, and it confused him that she was the one to find the right words. How could she understand so well? They had had nothing but mean words and intentions towards each other at school, and then had barely spoken in the years that had followed. Yet she was here, on his couch next to him, trying to make him feel better and actually succeeding at it. Draco thought at that moment that it should have felt wrong; he should have felt disgusted to be comforted like a child by his former Gryffindor muggle-born nemesis. But he didn't feel neither of that. It didn't feel wrong at all. Especially when her hand -he just noticed- was now on his, drawing small soothing circles.

Confused and disturbed, he straightened himself, looked away and removed his hand. Looking upset and… sad? Hermione retreated her hand before composing herself again.

'I'm sorry,' she said sincerely. 'It's probably not mine to tell you all that. I know we're not friends and I'm not sure I'm the right person to be there while you're grieving.'

Putting her mug on the table, she added on the same soft tone 'I should go. I came unannounced and you probably want to be left alone or with friends of yours. I could even call Harry if you want, and ask him to come by with a butterbeer or something.'

At that, she got up on her feet and smoothed her jeans with one hand. In the meantime, behind her Draco widened his eyes, not knowing what to say and panicking a little. He tried to make sense of his feeling and realised that he didn't want her to leave. Not after feeling so understood. The only thought of being suddenly alone scared him. He wanted company; he needed company. The fact that he wanted her to stay surprised him but it was nothing compared to the possibility of her leaving.

'Stay.'

His voice had been so low, muffled and uncertain that it had sounded more like a whisper. Nonetheless, Hermione had heard it, because she turned around looking surprised.

'You- you want me to stay?'

In the same tone used a few seconds ago he answered 'Yes.'

Hermione paced back slowly to the couch and hesitantly sat, still looking at him confusingly.

'Okay,' she whispered back. 'I don't want to cross a line. So, we can talk about anything that you'd like.'

Draco sighted, put his cup on the coffee table then opened his mouth.

'It's going to take a long time for me to accept it, but my wife is gone. The manor is big, and cold now without her presence. I can't stay alone right now. I was a despicable git at school and I'm not the best person to keep company to, but I'm trying hard to change. I don't want to talk, but I don't want to be left alone tonight. So, you can make the conversation. I'll listen to anything you say, except for anything concerning Weasley or girly stuff.'

His warning made Hermione chuckle and relax.

'Okay, I promise I will stick to the interesting stuff then.'

So, Hermione started babbling about random memories they had in common from Hogwarts, and other things she found funny. Draco relaxed as well, commenting here and then, sharing some memories of his own. He felt his heart warm gradually as the sun slowly came down witnessing two former enemies talking heartedly.

The fire had been lit at some point, and Draco watched the shadows of the flames caressing Hermione's skin as she was speaking vividly with joy gleaming in her eyes. The Slytherin felt comforted and warmed up. He thought that nothing had predicted him being in that particular situation at that precise moment when the day had begun. And still, it felt like there was nothing worth replacing that, especially not a glass of alcohol and a week-long sleep. At the sound of the Gryffindor's voice, it seemed like everything was going to get better at some point and that he would be okay. Anyway, he was okay with fact that he would have to recover and taste life again.

Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger were not friends. But they could be.

Everything seemed possible.

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A/N: So, there it was! I really hope it was okay. If my writing proves itself to be good in English, I think I'd like to write my first ever long fic in the language. It'll give me an even bigger challenge. 

BellaDrey

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  



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